


Photovoltaic

by wreathed



Category: British Comedy RPF, Just Puddings (Web Series), Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster (Podcast)
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: Late-night church sneaking.(From the prompt: After his book promo event or after going to see a gig at one or whatever, James and Ed sneak back into a church together. Perhaps they discuss guilt. Or discuss feelings. Or get off. Or all three.)





	Photovoltaic

The loud thud of their closing the heavy, wooden, should-have-been-locked-but-for-dumb-luck door behind them is unforgiving on James’s nerves, but no retribution comes, divine or otherwise: there really does seem to be no-one else around. He unfreezes, heartbeat frantic for an entirely different reason now, and follows the clean squeak of Ed’s trainers through from the vestibule into the church proper.

The lights are all switched off, leaving them only in the faraway glow of the streetlamps set beyond the front gate, and James’s eyes are going to take their time to adjust. They creep along the aisle and James returns to the raised dais in front of the chancel, sardonically gazing out at the ordered emptiness and taking in the silent, airy room that drifts up to a ceiling too far away in the darkness for him to see.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” James says, throwing his voice out to the absent congregation as if he’s on stage. “Very weird seeing hundreds of copies of your own book placed along backs of the pews in the place of the gospels.”

“Don't go getting a god complex now,” Ed tells him fondly, stepping only with a slight unsteadiness into James’s field of vision. He’s slightly drunk and the one who got them both here. It was supposed to have been the end of the night. “You’re far too nascent for that.”

“Yeah,” James answers vaguely, not feeling like he’s properly concentrating enough to provide a witty riposte. It’s amazing how the absence of electric lighting and a few hundred people can change a room. “Give it a few years at least, I guess.”

They stay in lulled, companionable silence for a while, only shouts from outside and the functional hum familiar to all public buildings for company. Ed turns away to pace to the back of the church. James eventually steps off the side of the dais to a corner of the north transept, mindlessly rubbing the pad of his thumb against the wood panelling. He’s waiting for something to happen, but the overwhelming likelihood is that, following the buzz of successfully breaking and entering (no actual breaking having been required), the whisky will soon tail off and they’ll separately slouch off home.

“Ever got off in a church?” Ed asks, all of a sudden standing right by him, sounding over-loud and pleased with himself. It makes James jump, and he glares. 

“No, I haven’t! As if you have, anyway.”

“You're the one always telling me I went to a weird school.”

“That's true,” James says, turning around to lean against the wall. That only makes Ed move even closer. He tries to focus on how the panelling digs in to his back. “Always more likely to happen when a group of teenagers have access to an on-site chapel.”

“We did _not_ have—” Ed stops himself and sighs pointedly, as if to prove he won’t be goaded.

“_Have_ you?” James asks, hating, in that moment, the pitch of his own voice.

“Would you really feel guilt if you did, do you think? You can be convinced to sneak in. And you’re fine with swearing in here, really.” Ed’s voice is quieter now, and kind. Ed’s body is still close. Close enough for James to feel Ed’s warm breath against his skin at the end of each sentence. 

“It’s instinctual,” James replies carefully, eyes closed even though he can still barely see a thing. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands on end without him asking it to. “The guilt. Then I remember there’s no good reason for it and it goes away. Until my mind wanders and I revert to irrationality. Like a goldfish in a bowl, I am.” 

“Mm,” Ed says, managing to softly convey pleasure and scepticism in a single push of sound. “But do you want to?”

Ed’s serious like this, face almost entirely in shadow. He puts one broad hand on James's shoulder in a way that would be no more than friendly if it wasn't for the context of their situation and a feeling James would only be able to put into words after a lot of forethought.

James pulls a tight, exaggerated, disbelieving face that he hopes plainly conveys ‘of course I want to’, then realises, in this order, that the face doesn't say that and that Ed probably can't see him well enough in the dark to know. So he goes for Ed's mouth with his own and hits it first time, because he knows Ed's face well by now. He's looked. 

He feels Ed start to smile. They stay like that for some time, close, being watched by no-one.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know [St James’s Piccadilly](http://www.simondawson.com/sjpenv/sjppv1.htm) has solar panels? And that solar panels perform up to 40 per cent better  
[when they can listen to music](https://www.london-nano.com/research/solar-panels-perform-better-when-listening-music)? Cool.


End file.
